


Troilus and Criseyde

by KiwiCutie013



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 2020 L'Manberg Election on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe resurrection, Angst, Bring back Jschlatt already T-T, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Cigarettes, Dream Team SMP Lore (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Ghostbur, Guilt but not really cuz its Jshlatt lmao, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jschlatt Angst (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, One Shot, Other, Politics, Power Dynamics, Resurrection, Violent Thoughts, dead mfs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiCutie013/pseuds/KiwiCutie013
Summary: Heaven wasn’t real. There was no God to redeem your sins to, just an empty abyss where you wandered the world, disconnected from everything; A small in-between world where you were ignored by those who couldn’t see you and nothing felt real.There was no afterlife. Hell was empty and the only demons that existed was the one he couldn’t see in the mirror but would have been able to if his heart was beating.Just him and a cavern of loneliness.And,And Wilbur.Or Ghostbur or whatever the fuck he called himself now.Jschlatt Resurrection AU? Yes.
Relationships: (past), Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot
Kudos: 51





	Troilus and Criseyde

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me, just writing this at 12 in the morning as I scour the internet for proof of Jshlatt's canon return in the Dream SMP. 
> 
> Also, the title is based on the poem by Geoffrey Chaucer that originally ties into the quote about Good things coming to an end :p

If being dead taught him anything, it was nothing. 

It taught him that his life, in short, was meaningless. 

And he already knew that. 

Heaven wasn’t real. There was no God to redeem your sins to, just an empty abyss where you wandered the world, disconnected from everything; A small in-between world where you were ignored by those who couldn’t see you and nothing felt  _ real.  _

There was no afterlife. Hell was empty and the only demons that existed was the one he couldn’t see in the mirror, but would have been able to if his heart was beating.

Just him and a cavern of loneliness. 

And, 

And Wilbur.

Or Ghostbur or whatever the fuck he called himself now. 

He caught onto all of that pretty quick so his time spent dwelling on it was also, short-lived. 

But it was apparent. 

There was shock and disappointed looks and murmurs when he died, but it lasted a mere hour. 

And then people moved on. 

Quackity, Tubbo, Ponk, everyone. 

That was fine. 

Jshlatt moved on just as they had. After all, he didn’t care. How could he? Not when that was how he was perceived. Uncaring, ruthless, vicious, and irrational. 

In that case, fine. 

All good things came to an end and nothing bad lasted forever. 

So at some point, whether you wanted it to or not, everything stopped. 

Eventually. 

Quite like his heart did during his, frankly pathetic, death that wasn’t supposed to happen. 

He wasn’t supposed to die and his death sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be broadcasted to everyone. He was just having fun was all. Swimming in power and a little crazed in the head; Ideas and alcohol swimming pleasantly through his bloodstream, his argument with Quackity still fresh in his mind.

After his death, that all stopped. 

That roller coaster feeling that he had grown so used to. That feeling when he made a decision that  _ actually  _ impacted things. It didn’t matter good or bad, he made that decision and because he was in the position where people had no choice but to listen to him, it felt  _ so good.  _

The only way to have power was to take it and people took that too seriously. 

It wasn’t personal. 

Just an addiction to a mind-numbing feeling that felt so much better than living a dull, empty life at the bottom of the social food chain. 

It was the same feeling he got when he drank or smoked or when someone close to him said something meaningful about him and he took a step out of his protective, sky-high maze of walls of emotional block to smile and be silently grateful that despite people abandoning him left and right, he’d always remember that one thing. 

It was a demonic pull that when presented with a decision, whispered things and ideas to him that seemed so irresistible and consequence-free. 

It was cruel, echoing laughter that turned out to be his own because holy  _ fuck  _ if the fearful glances and hateful looks weren’t so damn  _ funny _ . 

Which sounded horrible, but his power meant nothing if people weren’t afraid of him. 

And then he lost it. 

It was a hell of a run, but all good things came to an end. 

During his time in the middle ground of death and living, he remembered that things are short-lived so that you can appreciate them. 

Jshlatt thought that was funny. 

Because to him, that sounded like a challenge. A dare. 

And instead of appreciating that heart-racing feeling, he grew to chase it. Because now that he was dead and alone, he felt nothing. And although he loved the quiet; the ability to block out the staticky noise of other people, he needed people in order to find that feeling again. 

He perceived his loss of power not because he did anything bad, but because he went too fast after that feeling. He chased it too far and it turned the corner too quickly, leaving him to slide off the ledge. 

That saying, “All good things come to an end, so appreciate them while you have them.” 

Bullshit. 

It felt like something to do. 

A nagging hate pooling inside of him because  _ fuck _ he wanted good/bad things again and here was this thought by some dumbfuck philosopher, telling him that he couldn’t have it and instead of grieving it or trying to avenge it, he should choose to be grateful. 

He'd rather wallow in his own want and frustrations than lose against some ancient motherfucker who had said something that would become a 14-year-old’s Instagram caption. 

He’d remain emotionless and numb and  _ dead  _ until he dissipated from existence. 

Only the thing was, he didn’t have to wait that long. 

Because after spectating in the world he once ruled over for longer than he ever wanted to; roaming the earth and studying every square inch until he couldn’t take it anymore and slumped to the ground, lingering and emitted in his own self-hate for days on end, something happened. 

His bones, his mind, his heart. 

It started back up. 

His skin began tangible and his horns that had grown steadily at the beginning of his dead status, began becoming real and he could  _ feel. _

And he could hear and touch and everything in his mind began starting back up again. 

And he caught a glimpse of that addicting feeling and suddenly something clicked in his fucked-up subconscious and he relished in it for just a moment; disbelief lingering at the surface as he marveled at the world he grew tangible in. 

He didn’t want to be alive, but that feeling made him feel alive. 

Jshlatt pushed away from the tree he was leaning against then and bent down, staring wide-eyed at the water in the small pond below him. He reached a hand out curiously and dipped a finger in; feeling cool liquid surrounding his grey-ish skin. 

He smiled, standing back up and staggering towards the tree, everything he felt right before he died rushing back towards him; the alcohol, the pain in his chest. Although mild, the feeling of his chest scrunching in on itself was still there. 

He sighed against the back of the tree, taking a moment to regain his feelings and gather up his questions. 

He lifted a weary hand up towards his chest then, taking a deep breath as he pressed his hand over his chest and rubbed at the feeling of his suit and felt his heartbeat. 

Live. 

Living. 

Breathing. 

He took a deep breath. 

In and out. 

_ Breathing. _

The first thing he did after that was smoke a cigarette. 

**Author's Note:**

> For more Dream SMP related content, follow me on Instagram, @Tuckers_bitcc
> 
> What?
> 
> I'm allowed to self-promo on my own page >:)


End file.
